‘You,’ Richter continued, ‘are a sadist, without question. You probably see yourself as a technician, just a man doing an important job for the KGB and then for the SVR that nobody else wanted to do. But you’re wrong, because you enjoy your work, and that’s the difference. It probably gave you a particular thrill to see General Modin lying naked in front of you this afternoon, strapped to the table and hoping to die quickly. He was a decent man who didn’t like you, and never made any secret of it, and I’m sure that added extra spice to your work.’
Richter took the hammer then and hit the side of Gremiakin’s left foot as hard as he could. Blood flowed and bones broke. Even through the tape gag Richter could hear the Russian’s howl of anguish. ‘That,’ Richter said, ‘is a small return of service for General Modin.’ He cleaned the head of the hammer again. ‘But as I said, I’m not here because of the general.’ Richter put the hammer down and looked at Gremiakin.
‘I’m here,’ Richter continued, ‘because of an Englishman. A man called Newman, Graham Newman, who received your attentions earlier this year. He was, as the SVR quite obviously knew, the British Secret Intelligence Service Head of Station here in Moscow. General Modin was quite forthcoming when I asked him. Newman was snatched by the SVR, not because of anything he knew, but because of something he might have found out about.’
The Russian stared at him. ‘You questioned him. According to General Modin, it took you several hours, and I cannot even begin to imagine the agony Newman went through before he finally died. You can, of course, because you were entirely responsible for it.’ Gremiakin shook his head. ‘Normally, of course, we professionals accept that kind of thing as being all part of the game, one of the risks a man runs if he gets involved in the clandestine world.
‘But Newman was different,’ Richter continued, ‘at least to me.’ Gremiakin was still staring at him. ‘Graham Newman,’ Richter said, ‘was my cousin.’ The Russian recoiled as if Richter had hit him. ‘So you see, this is nothing to do with professional ethics or morals or anything else. This is just a simple family matter.’
He reached into the toolbox again, took out a six-inch screwdriver and walked towards Gremiakin.
Richter left the site at a little before ten. What was left of Gremiakin was lying in the undergrowth, wrapped in the tarpaulin, and it might be days or weeks before anybody found the body. Richter had thoroughly cleaned all the tools, and was confident that there was nothing in the vehicle that could link the VAZ either to the site or to the body. He wouldn’t have been so certain in the West, but Russian forensic science is fairly rudimentary.
He returned to the Embassy without incident, parked the car and went to bed.
Tuesday
Richter saw Payne the following morning, told him that his business in Moscow was completed, and asked for a car and escort to Sheremetievo airport that afternoon to catch the British Airways afternoon flight back to Heathrow.
‘Why an escort?’ Payne asked.
‘Because I have reason to believe that I have been compromised and my possession of a diplomatic passport may not be sufficient to guarantee my safe passage out of the country.’
This burst of officialese was actually understating the case. Gremiakin had known exactly who Richter was, and his telephone call to his minders had presumably included a statement of Richter’s identity. Even a cursory check of the departure flight schedules would reveal that a ‘Mr Beatty’ was booked on the London flight.
Reverting to Richter’s real name and genuine passport, which he had sewn into the lining of the bottom of his overnight case, wouldn’t help. Russian bureaucracy is slow but thorough – they have, after all, had a lot of practice. Before a Mr Richter could fly out of Russia, a Mr Richter would have to fly in to Russia; the two sections of the visa have to match.
Richter’s best hope was that Gremiakin had not had time to disseminate the information properly, and that he would be able to slip out before the hunt was really under way. The escort from the Embassy might help if this turned out to be as forlorn a hope as Richter expected.
Payne elected to come in person, together with the Second Secretary, and they climbed out of the car at Sheremetievo Terminal Two at fifteen thirty, allowing the usual two hours before the flight’s departure time. Richter hadn’t noticed any unusual police or militia presence outside the airport, and the terminal appeared much as normal. He was beginning to think it was actually going to work when he saw a face he knew approaching him.
‘Mr Beatty. Leaving us so soon?’ Viktor Grigorevich Bykov was dressed in the uniform of a full general, a change from the civilian suit he had been wearing when Richter had last seen him beside the autoroute in France. In the background Richter could see two junior officers in uniform, both carrying sidearms and clearly awaiting instructions from Bykov.
‘General Bykov,’ Richter said, and forced a smile. ‘Congratulations on your promotion. Yes, I’m hoping to leave.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ the Russian chuckled, ‘and I’m here just to see you off. But first,’ he said, ‘come over here. We have some matters to discuss.’
Richter motioned to Payne and the Second Secretary to stay close, and followed Bykov to a seating area. ‘So,’ Bykov said, ‘why did you come here? Despite your smart new tie—’ Bykov gestured towards the silver greyhound motif ‘—you have not, I am sure, been reduced to taking a job as a Queen’s Messenger.’ Richter shook his head. ‘Perhaps, then, you came to see our famous art treasures?’
Richter shook his head again. ‘I’m not a tourist, General.’
Bykov’s smile vanished. ‘I know that, Mr Beatty. I know why you came, or I think I do.’ He paused, leaned forward and looked steadily at the Englishman. ‘I should have you killed for interfering with our operation. It took over four years of work to set it up, to get all the weapons constructed and positioned, and you came along and ruined it in just a few days.’
Richter shook his head. ‘I won’t say I’m sorry, General, because I’m not.’
‘I didn’t expect that you would be,’ Bykov said.
‘And I didn’t think,’ Richter said, ‘that it was entirely your operation. We were surprised when a bunch of Arabs appeared out of the woodwork with their own world domination plan. Which,’ he added, ‘might well have worked if the American weapons had been exploded as they had intended.’
Bykov grimaced. ‘You weren’t anything like as surprised as us,’ he said. ‘They were obviously Minister Trushenko’s personal little secret, but neither he nor anybody else here suspected their hidden agenda. In fact, for stopping them, we owe you and the Americans a debt of gratitude. And we are genuinely sorry about Abilene. You must believe it was never our intention to actually pull the trigger – the weapons in America were just a threat, pawns, as it were, to be played in our long-running game of international chess.’
After a moment, Bykov spoke again. ‘Comrade Gremiakin has not reported for work today.’ He looked at Richter expectantly, and the Englishman could feel the net closing around him.
‘Perhaps,’ Richter said, ‘this Gremiakin is unwell.’ Bykov looked at him appraisingly. ‘His apartment is empty, and nobody has seen him since last night. He called his security guards to report an armed intruder, and they thought he might have been driven away in a VAZ saloon.’ He stared at Richter. ‘Where were you yesterday evening, Mr Beatty? Doing paperwork at the Embassy, perhaps? Something like that?’
‘Yes,’ Richter said. ‘Something like that.’
‘You can produce witnesses, no doubt?’
‘If necessary,’ he replied, ‘I probably could.’
Bykov nodded. ‘I’m sure you could,’ he said agreeably. Then his tone hardened. ‘Do you know what Gremiakin did yesterday afternoon, Mr Beatty?’ Before Richter could answer, Bykov shook his head. ‘No, of course you don’t. Let me tell you. He was instructed to terminate General Modin. The general and I were ordered by the Kremlin to fly back from London almost as soon as we had disclosed that the weapon had been seized in France. Because of General Modin’s part in the project he knew that he would inevitably be blamed for its failure, and he could probably guess what would happen to him.’
Holy Russia –
